Destructive Decisions
by NewsiesSpot88
Summary: One thing leads to another, and then another, until all hell breaks loose. Now with the really revised edition.


The wind picked up briskly around the docks as the three figures approached the small group of Brooklyn newsies. Spot leapt nimbly down from the crates to greet them.

"Well, Dagger, a little birdie told me you're leadin' da Bronx these days." Spot spat in his palm and held it out.

The tallest of the three (and that was saying something) did the same. "Smart little birdie you got there."

Spot wondered how much taller Dagger had grown since their last meeting, a few months back. He towered at least a foot over the Brooklyn leader. Dagger introduced his companions as Hawk and Royce. Spot nodded.

"So what brings you to Brooklyn, Dagger?"

"Actually, I'm scopin' out a rumor of me own. See, word on the streets of the Bronx is that Spot Conlon's plannin' an invasion of our territory." He eyed the Brooklyn leader suspiciously.

Spot met his gaze with equal ferocity. "Not all birdies sing sweetly." He turned to leave.

"You know what? You're right," Dagger voiced behind him. "Can't be too careful, though. And anyway, I don't think we got much to worry 'bout from this _girl_." His thugs snickered.

Spot froze in his tracks. Then he whipped around, pure rage written all over his face and fire in his eyes. "What was that?" he said in a dangerously low voice, taking a threatening step closer to the three, gripping his cane. The other Brooklyn newsies were silent, waiting for something to happen; even the wind had died down.

Dagger smirked. "You heard me," he said playfully. He leaned down to look Spot in the eye. "Now why don't you and your pink suspenders go home to your dolls?"

The first blow hit him square in the jaw. Dagger had to admit, the kid was stronger than he looked. Surprised, he stood there for a few seconds, unmoving. That was all Spot needed. He kneed Dagger in the gut, and then punched him in the eye, causing him to stumble back into one of his thugs. The other- Royce- lunged at Spot, but was hit hard with the cane. The next one, Hawk, having disentangled himself from Dagger's flailing arms, aimed a punch at him, but Spot grabbed his arm, twisted it back, and kicked him in the back of the knee. Dagger was up again, though, and managed to get in one good shot to the jaw. Spot tasted the blood in his mouth, but decked him back.

"You're gonna regret this," Dagger growled, running off with his thugs.

"You set foot in Brooklyn again, and you're goin' off the bridge, you hear?" Spot yelled after them. He spat blood out on the ground and stormed back to his 'throne' on the docks.

"You guys see anyone from the Bronx, you soak 'em, you hear?" he said angrily.

"Those are the ones I was talkin' to you 'bout earlier, Spot," Spritz spoke up next to him. "_They're_ plannin' the invasion on _us_."

This just made Spot angrier. "Right. Switch, you're in charge in the mornin'. I'm gonna pay a little visit to Manhattan."

"Come on, Blink, just a little Blackjack," Racetrack whined, shuffling the cards invitingly.

Kid Blink glared at him. "You already got all me money. What else you want?"

"Just for fun? Come on, you know you wanna!"

"Why dontcha just ask someone else, like Mush, or . . . Spot!"

"Whaddaya talkin' 'bout? Spot's in Brooklyn," Race scoffed.

"So who does a guy hafta soak to get some attention 'round here?"

Race swore loudly, dropped his cards, and spun around. Spot was leaning against the statue of Horace Greeley, smirking.

"Sheesh, kid, you fall outta the sky?" Race grumbled.

"Nah, I don't come from heaven," Spot said, his eyes glinting. "Where's Kelly?"

"Right here." Jack appeared behind him. "Whaddaya need?"

"It's the Bronx, Jacky boy," Spot said, narrowing his eyes. "They been causin' trouble."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Like. . ."

"Talk of takin' over Brooklyn; they even come over to insult me."

Jack shook his head. "Trisket wouldn't do dat."

Spot spat on the ground, his eyes flashing. "It ain't Trisket callin' the shots anymore. It's Dagger."

"Thanks for the intro, Spot."

Spot whirled around, clenching his fists. Speak of the devil; it was Dagger, with two new thugs.

"Nice shiner you got there," Race snickered.

Spot smiled wryly. "Whaddaya doin' here?"

"Same as you. Gettin' Cowboy here to help us.

"Brooklyn don't need _help_!" Spot flared up at once. "We're just comin' to warn them of your dirty tricks."

"_Cacasado_," Race muttered. Blink snickered.

Dagger held up his hands in mock fear. "Whoa, there, little fella!" he whimpered. "Don't go psycho, please! Oh, have mercy!"

"You lookin' for a matchin' shiner on the udder side?" Spot growled.

"Break it up, guys," Jack warned. They ignored him.

"Hey, wait a minute," Race muttered so only Blink could hear. "That's the guy who cheated me outta me money last week!"

Too fast for Spot to react, the thugs grabbed his arms and brought him down on his knees in the same way he had done to Hawk. Dagger pulled out a dagger and held it to Spot's throat.

"Put that away," Jack said in a low voice, stepping forward. Dagger pressed the dagger against Spot's neck.

"Hey, hey now, we're all friends here, right?" Race said brightly, standing in front of Dagger with his hands raised. One clenched into a fist and punched Dagger in the nose.

Blink went for one thug. Jack went for the other, while Spot broke free. He went after Dagger with his cane, swinging and catching him hard across the cheek. Dagger grabbed the other end of the cane as his head snapped back, and snapped the wood in two.

The resounding _crack_ echoed across the square.

Dagger froze, then took off with his thugs behind. At the edge of the square, he yelled back, "_Rompere i coglioni a qualcona, figlio di puttana_!" in flawless Italian before he disappeared around the corner.

Race's jaw dropped open. His cigar dropped out.

"What was that?" Blink wondered.

Race whispered the translation in his ear. Blink's eye widened.

Everyone looked at Spot. His hands were shaking, each holding half of the cane. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out through his nose. He remained motionless for a time.

"Shouldnta done that, Race," Jack said, shaking his head.

"What, and let him slit Spot's throat?" Race demanded.

Spot can take care of himself," Spot said. "But thanks." He spat in his hand and took Race's outstretched hand. "Hey, he got you?"

Race put his free hand up to his face and flinched, finding the cut on his check. "Must've caught me on the upswing when I decked him. Didn't even feel it."

"Uh, guys?" Blink interrupted. "Hate to burst your bubble, but the bulls are comin'!"

Spot swore under his breath. As he was leaving, he turned. "Jack?"

Jack's expression was resolute. "I'll think about it."

"Shouldnta done that, Race," Jack replied wearily.

"What is it with you? Dagger woulda gutted him right there!"

Mush came up behind Race's bunk. "Gutted who?"

"Spot."

"Spot was here?"

Blink nodded. "Along with his old friends from the Bronx," he said darkly.

Mush looked confused. "The Bronx?"

"They're takin' over Brooklyn . . . or they wanna."

"And Spot wants our help," Jack sighed. "Shouldnta done that, Race."

Race now bore his best stubborn face. "Jack-"

"We started somethin' with the Bronx. We can't back out now."

"Jack, we don't hafta fight."

"The Bronx'll remember this, Race. Go clean that cut up."

"Reports on the others?" Jack said hopefully.

"Long Island's for Brooklyn," Mush offered.

"Coney's undecided," Skittery piped up.

"Harlem for the Bronx," Blink said darkly.

"Queens, too," David Said.

Jack frowned. "East Village? The Battery?"

Specs and Bumlets shook their heads. "Stayin' out."

"Like we should be." Jack glared at Race.

Race threw his hands up in frustration. "I saved Spot, and I'm the bad guy?"

Jack ignored him. "Get to sleep, people. Early start tomorrow."

"Carryin' the banner," Blink muttered.

Racetrack had finally sold his last paper (after being chased down the street by an old lady and whacked repeatedly over the head with her purse) and was heading back to the lodging house when he saw them: the two thugs who were with Dagger, leaving an alley, checking furtively over their shoulders.

"Hey!" Race yelled, running towards them. They took off.

Race shook his head. "Idiots," he muttered, but curiosity overtook him. He wandered into the alley and was shocked t find a newsie lying there- maybe about eleven, twelve years old. Race knelt down beside him. The boy stirred.

"Cowboy," he murmured, and then passed out.

The kid was heavier than Race would've thought, carrying him back to the lodging house. Mush leapt up to help him when he staggered through the doorway.

"Who's this?" he said.

"Where's Jack?" was his answer.

Jack came at once when Blink told him. "What happened?"

"It was those thugs . . . from the Bronx. They soaked the kid and left him in an alley . . . kid said your name, and went out cold."

"Well, I guess we wait."

A couple of hours later, the kid stirred again. He sat up with a start.

"W-where am I?" he said nervously, glancing around with wide eyes.

Race put a hand on his shoulder. "Relax, kid. What's your name?"

"Sammy. How did I get here?"

"Kids from the Bronx, remember?" Race said roughly. "I brought you here."

Sammy looked frightened. "Oh, I have to go . . . Spot'll be mad . . ."

"Spot?" Jack interrupted. "Spot sent you?"

The boy nodded. "To find the newsie named . . . Cowboy."

Jack spat in his palm and offered it to the boy. "You've found him. What's wrong?"

Sammy took the hand tentatively. "He says . . . the Bronx are getting' closer, and that they're gonna attack soon. Brooklyn _and_ Manhattan. But he don't know which one. Says he needs your answer . . . now."

"We're in. Soon as you rest up, we're headed back to Brooklyn."

Race's mouth dropped open. "But . . . but . . ."

Jack smiled. "Somethin' wrong?"

"Well, why now? And not when _I_ was the bad guy?"

"'Cause if the Bronx are goin' so far to soak kids, they need to be taught a lesson they won't forget."

The lodging house erupted in cheers.

"Jack . . . I need to talk to you."

Jack looked up. "Sure, Davey, shoot."

David took a deep breath. "I'm leaving."

"Leaving? Back to school already? But the Bronx . . ."

"No, not school."

Jack stared at him.

"Boston."

"Boston?" Jack said weakly. "You're . . . moving?"

David nodded.

"When?"

"Tonight."

"Why?"

David sighed. "They wouldn't tell me."

"Davey . . ." Jack couldn't find the words David had been his best friend since the strike. And Les, little Les he would miss too. And Sarah . . ."

_Tap, tap._

Sarah looked up and smiled. She pushed the window open and threw her arms around Jack's neck.

"Jack . . ." she whispered, tears springing up again.

"I love you, too, Sarah," he murmured. He pulled back to look at her. "Now, missy, there will be no tears on my account . . ."

Sarah laughed and kissed him deeply. "Oh, Jack, I'm so worried about the fight . . ."

"I survived the last one, didn't I? I'm gonna be fine, Sarah."

"But . . ."

"Sarah, I promise you, one day I will find you again, if it kills me," Jack promised. "I love you."

"Goodbye, Jack. I love you, too."

He kissed her again, and then he was back at the lodging house, not even noticing the walk home in the rain.

Race stared at him when he entered. "Whaddaya doin' in the rain?"

"Hey, guys. Guys!" Jack yelled. The room quieted down. He lowered his voice. "David wanted to let you know that he's had a great time with us, and that he's gonna miss all of us."

There was a confused rustle of voices.

"Whaddaya mean?" Blink said slowly.

"David and Les moved to Boston."

Everyone was silent, staring at Jack as he slowly walked down to his bunk. He stared up at the ceiling, fighting back tears he knew would come eventually. One slipped by and slid down his cheek without a sound.

At noon the next day, the whole gang trooped up to Brooklyn. Jack still didn't talk, though many tried to talk to him.

"Jack. . ." Race started.

"Cowboy. . ." Blink said hesitantly.

"I don't want to talk about it," Jack said shortly. And that was the end of that. The entire bridge journey was made in silence.

"Well, Jack be nimble, Jack be quick," Spot said, trying to mask his shock. 'Whatcha doin' here?"

Race brought forth Sammy from his hiding place behind Blink.

"Kid, what happened to you?" Spot traced the bruises on Sammy's face and arms.

"Those thugs from the Bronx," Race growled.

Spot's face hardened. "Dagger . . ." he muttered.

"We're in," Jack said.

Spot nodded. "Hey, where's the mouth? Ain't he comin'?"

"His family moved," Race supplied when Jack said nothing.

Spot shut his mouth quick. He understood as easily as the other newsies. "The Bronx, we dunno when they're comin' . . ."

A small voice piped up. "I do."

They turned to look at Sammy. He shrank back meekly, but Race out a comforting hand on his shoulder. He continued. "J-just before sunset tonight, they said. They thought I's was out cold, but I was awake still."

Spot clapped the boy on the back, who winced. "Atta boy!"

"Whadda 'bout Coney? They comin'?" Race asked hopefully.

Spot shrugged. "Depends."

"On . . ."

"If they feel like it."

"Great," Race groaned.

"Do we want them, do?" Blink questioned. "Shortstop's kinda . . . whacked out, you know?"

Jack laughed hollowly. "The more nuts, the merrier," he said dryly. "Besides, with him we got four."

Race laughed. "Wait, you ain't talkin' 'bout me, are you?"

"You okay, Jackie boy?"

"I'm fine, Spot. Really."

"No, you're not. It's obvious, Jack. We all know it, 'cept you won't talk."

Jack looked down off the bridge into the water. "I don't know whatcha talkin' 'bout," he said stiffly.

"Oh, come on. We all knew you was in love with Sarah. Now she's gone, and you're sad. You can stop acting like the world revolves 'round you."

"'Cause you want the spotlight back, right?" Jack shot back. "Just 'cause you're so emotionally savvy doesn't mean the rest of us hafta be, like the cold hearted king of Brooklyn. It's obvious you've never loved anyone."

Spot was quiet. "That's just cruel, Jackie boy."

"Taste of your own medicine for you," Jack said sourly.

They both stared moodily into the water until a cry rose up.

"The Bronx!"

They straightened immediately, their gazes locking for a moment, and then sprinted off to the newsies. Jack and Spot took their place at the head of the group with Billy Stone from long Island. Dagger and the Bronx newsies stopped about fifteen feet in front of them, Queens and Harlem behind.

"So," he said, a wide grin on his face. "We meet again."

"_Vafancullo_," Race muttered behind Jack.

Team Bronx traded insults back and forth with Team Brooklyn, on an on until the fight started. Now the fight was full scale. And even in the beginning, Team Brooklyn was already being pushed back towards the middle of the bridge.

The sun was setting, and deep threatening clouds moved across the sky. As if on cue, thunder rolled and lightning stabbed through the coming darkness.

Spot swore loudly when rain started coming down in huge sheets. Fighting in the rain always took a hit on visibility. _Well_, he thought grimly, _at least we know the bulls won't be comin'. Won't wanna get their shiny black boots wet._

Racetrack found himself ducking as a Harlem newsies about six feet tall swung at him. In a rush to stand back up and defend himself, he slipped and fell hard on his back. The thug stood over him, grinning, and raised his foot over Race's faces. Race closed his eyes and put his arms over his face, preparing for the strike that didn't come. He pulled himself up into a sitting position, opening his eyes as Spot, out of nowhere, decked and guy and threw him into a group of others. He helped Race to his feet.

"Now we're even!" he yelled over the noise.

Fighting went on as fighting does.

_Okay, we put this next scene together as it would happen as if it was in a dramatic movie scene, so please bear with me. There is no sound except a heart beat._

Dangerously close to the railing of the Brooklyn Bridge, Jack narrowly avoided being decapitated as he jumped back to avoid Dagger's thrust of his dagger. The Bronx leader punched him, sending him reeling back into the edge.

_The scene plays as if in slow motion._ Jack teeters wildly on the railing, arms thrashing uselessly. A look of horror crosses his face.

Spot sees it coming. He yells out. No one hears over the noise. He tries to run over, but is blocked.

Racetrack sees it coming. He too yells out and tries to get there, but is held back.

And in that moment, Jack tumbles over the edge into the dark infinity below.

_The noise comes back in a sudden rush._

"Jackie boy!" Spot yelled, finally pushing through the mass of newsies.

Like a ripple of a wave, everybody stopped what they were doing and stared. Dagger stared from his hands back to the edge, not believing what had just happened.  
"You killed him!" Racetrack yelled, fighting his way up to stand next to Spot and Kid Blink. "You dirty rotten lousy _faccia muro bagascia_!"

"I didn't mean to!" Dagger cried out hoarsely. "I swear, I didn't!"

Suddenly Spot lunged at Dagger, his hands fastening around his throat, murderous rage written all over his face. It took Race, Blink, Mush, and four other newsies to hold him back.

Then Dagger decided to make one good decision: he split. The rest of the newsies on Team Bronx milled out quickly, quietly, awkwardly. Spot shoved the others holding him back away angrily and gripped the edge of the railing.

Most of the newsies from Team Brooklyn left silently, leaving only Spot, Racetrack, and Kid Blink. Several minutes passed in silence.

"I can't believe he's gone," Blink said hollowly.

"Gone," Race echoed, shaking his head.

Spot was silent still, staring down at the black waters of the Hudson.

Never again would any of them lay eyes on Jack Kelly. Never would they go through the streets with him, carrying the banner. Never would they follow him as a strike leader, a friend.

Never would Jack Kelly see any of his friends again. Never would he find Sarah. Never would he see Santa Fe.

Never.


End file.
